Persistent Hunger
by RussianDestruction
Summary: Snape finds himself inexplicably attracted to one of his beautiful female students. She pursues him relentlessly, but he resists, determined not to give in to his darker nature and inevitably ruin her life. This is the story of Snape's journey to physical and emotional redemption, and the (VERY LEMONY) tale of the girl who helps him along the way. *Partially AU from end of HBP on*
1. Habitual Hunger

**A/N: This story has adult themes, guys. Whatever you don't recognize, I own, but that's not going to be much, and JKR is the genius, not me. I'll try to update once a week between frantic studying as I finish my undergrad degree.  
**

**This story is set during the 7th year of schooling. I am ignoring the end of HBP, making a lot of this AU, but in other aspects, I have striven to remain true to canon. Voldemort is still around (unfortunately), and the Order is still looking for a way to bring him down. The Horcruxes are very much a reality, and Dumby is still alive. **

Professor Severus Snape was irritated beyond belief. Whenever the hunger came over him during a lecture, it was distracting, not to mention downright frustrating.

"Be very careful of your stirring method, as a failure to complete the correct number of shallow, counterclockwise turns will have an adverse effect upon the completed potion, weakening its abilities."

Long practice enabled him to school his features into their usual impassivity and his voice into its usual silky drawl, despite his considerable discomfort. His seventh year students knew him well enough by now, however, to be aware of a subtle increase in the usual amount of malice which perpetually emanated from his person in waves, and shrank from him as he stalked around the classroom.

He really wished that the little blonde twit in the back row wouldn't charm her skirts so short. It was damned irritating, and he felt his trousers tighten with the inevitable side effect of his condition. He was hard put to it to feel remorse over his reaction to a seventeen year old student who exposed herself deliberately. The expanse of creamy thigh revealed by the open flaps of her robes was simply inappropriate, and he was only a man, after all. She was hardly the only female Hogwarts student to show up for his classes with sexed up regulation apparel. He knew teenaged girls were strange beings, for he had been young once, despite persistent and strenuous assessments to the contrary among the majority of the student body, but he also had the accurate self-awareness that only comes with maturity, and knew he had grown into the unfortunate nose and gangly height of his school years. While he was far from the handsomest man in the world, neither did he believe himself incapable of inspiring adolescent crushes. For some girls, tall and dark was enough, and at 6'4", with a full head of black hair, he certainly had that covered.

But he really needed her to look less...edible if he was to finish his lecture.

"Miss Ambrosio!" he barked suddenly, cutting into his smooth educational monologue and causing most of his students to jump about six inches off their seats. Only those with nerves perpetually hardened by his abrasive personality managed to avoid being airborne.

She looked up at him, actually meeting his flint-hard stare.

"Ten points from Slytherin, Miss Ambrosio, for your indecent attire," he growled, ignoring the soft rustling amongst the Slytherins, who could hardly believe that their Head of House had just docked points from one of their own.

"If you persist in coming to class in a state of undress, I shall be forced to take more drastic action."

"Like what, professor?" the chit rejoined.

Actual gasps could now be heard, particularly from the Gryffindors on the other side of the room, who began visibly preparing themselves for nuclear fallout. Although he had to conceal shock at her tart response, Snape didn't bellow. That wasn't his style anyway, and his idiot students should know that by now. He merely swept over to her desk, black robes floating and then settling around his booted feet. Bracing his palms on the rough wood surface, he leaned over her threateningly.

"Don't test me, girl," he hissed at her. "I have no time for your nonsense."

Her scent wafted to his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply, suppressing a pleasurable shudder. Leaning over her had been a mistake. In addition to the problem with the skirt, she had also modified her school shirt, and the twin mounds of her breasts strained at the unbuttoned placket.

"What _do_ you have time for, professor?" she asked, placing unmistakable emphasis on the _do_.

This time Snape almost couldn't hide his disbelief at her question. Recovering quickly, however, he bent even closer, letting his eyes rake coldly over her.

"You don't interest me, Ambrosio," he told her harshly, ignoring his body's vigorous disagreement. "Cover yourself before I make it twenty points."

Apparently, he had covered his reaction well. Stung, she wandlessly loosened her shirt and lengthened her skirt, and he was left with conflicting feelings of admiration that she was able to manage such a spell without her wand, and aggravation at the fact that the delectable view to which he had been treated for the better part of the last hour was now gone.

Suppressing the grumbling irritation which was now rising in waves, he made his way back to the front of the classroom. She wasn't looking at him now. Instead, she had her head bent over her parchment and books, in marked contrast to her positively lascivious behavior of the past few minutes. He was relieved to note that the period was coming to a close, and after surveying the efforts of his students, he saw that it was none too soon. While he had been...occupied with Miss Ambrosio, Mr. Longbottom had melted his cauldron and most of his shoes, through which knobbly socks were now peeking, and Miss Bulstrode appeared to have inadvertently ingested some of her potion via the fumes. She was now showing definite effects of the Halitosis Potion, as her classmates were leaning desperately away from her, and some were retching slightly in their throats.

The clock chimed the hour, and the class stood as one, frantically gathering their things in an effort to leave as quickly as possible.

"I didn't give you leave to depart." Somehow, as it always did, his dark voice penetrated the chaos of the room as effectively as if he had shouted, and the students instantly subsided into their seats.

"I want _two_ rolls of parchment for next class, on the importance of taking proper precautions when handling potions with membrane-permeable offgassing. Class dismissed."

They didn't need to be told twice, and Snape sighed with relief when the door to the dungeons at last clanged shut. He was just about to reach in his desk drawer for a drink, when the long years as a spy kicked in, and he looked up to see Miss Ambrosio still at her desk.

He could feel a headache coming on.

"Yes?" he growled irritably, drawing out the s for at least five seconds. At least he was sitting down now. Were she ever to see the tent in his trousers, she would be unstoppable in her pursuit. When she still had not answered, after a long minute during which his quill scratching on parchment was the only sound in the room, he sighed heavily.

"Miss Ambrosio, get out."

He looked up to find her standing, her small hands playing with the buttons of her shirt. He knew very well what she wanted, and also knew that for all her bravado in class that afternoon, she didn't have the nerve to proposition him.

"Do not make me repeat myself," he hissed warningly. Standing suddenly, he towered over her, dark and menacing, and was gratified to see her step slowly backwards to the door. She appeared to be having an inner battle with her desire and her fear, and he could almost see the moment that fear won. His glittering dark eyes followed her shapely backside out the door, and he licked his lips.

At last, he reached for the fine crystal goblet hidden in his desk and poured himself a generous measure. Immediately, he felt his headache begin to recede, and he leant back in his chair, intending merely to rest his eyes a bit. Within moments, however, he was asleep.


	2. Insubstantial Titillation

**A/N: Hey guys! I still don't own anything, except for Miss Ambrosio. Amazingly enough, I actually had writer's block on this chapter, which is odd, since I usually don't get that with...this sort of thing ;) Hit that review button and give me feedback. Just to let you know, I exhausted myself working on this despite also having homework AND a business expo this weekend. Yes. Feel guilty. And review. :)**

He was bent over his desk, divested of his usual voluminous teaching robes, and clad simply in shirtsleeves and black trousers. Groaning, he passed a hand over his eyes, moving to rub his throbbing temples as he graded the drivel his students tried to pass off as essays, when a slightly hesitant knock sounded at his office door.

"Enter," he ground out, irritated at the impending interruption, and wondering briefly who it was. No student in all his years of teaching had ever taken advantage of his open office hours on weekday evenings, which were provided solely because Albus required all teachers to provide students the opportunity to request help outside the more stressful atmosphere of the classroom. Snape certainly had no altruistic desire to make himself available, especially as he firmly believed most of his potions students to be beyond his or anyone else's help. A lesser man's temper, frayed thin by the day's frustration, would have snapped at the interruption. Snape had a much tighter grip on himself than did most men, but even his self-control was sorely tried at the sight that met his eyes when he looked up.

There stood Miss Ambrosio, wrapped in an emerald green silk cloak. As he watched silently, she let the garment slip from her shoulders to pool at her feet. Despite himself, Snape let his eyes rake swiftly over the plump round breasts spilling out of a moss green bra so skimpy he could just make out the rosiness of her areolae. A slim waist flared to softly rounded hips, and downy curls peeked out at him from the sides of an unbelievably tiny pair of panties. His cock sprang instantly to attention, and his earlier hunger, momentarily forgotten as he forced himself to focus on grading, returned in force. He curled his hands into fists at his sides. It was with a distinct effort that he brought his smoky dark gaze back to her face.

"I thought we should discuss what happened in class this afternoon," she said.

In a flash, he was standing, tall and imposing, features drawn into a near grimace at the brazen forwardness which, unlike her body, did nothing for him. Snape had always liked his women submissive.

"Did you indeed?" he hissed at her, not caring that his erection was obvious. The girl had the allure of a veela, and was standing before him in goddamned lingerie; that she had managed to arouse him should scarcely be of note, and yet he saw her long-lashed eyes sweep over his crotch, and a pink flush color her cheeks as she unconsciously licked her lips.

"Come now, Miss Ambrosio," he chided, his voice rather huskier than usual, although the sneering undertones were still very much present. "Don't be coy; it doesn't suit you." It certainly suited him. This new, silent version was much more to his taste.

He had stepped around his desk, and was slowly backing her towards the nearest side wall of his office. She started when she felt the cold stone on her back, and simply looked up at him as he stood before her. He didn't touch her, didn't look down, knowing that if he did so, all attempts at self-control would be effectively routed. As it was, the delicious scent of her was filling the air, delicate and fresh, lightening the stale atmosphere of the dungeon office, and feeding the dangerous hunger that was never far from the surface of his mind.

"We both know you aren't that retiring sort of girl. You, it would seem, are the sort of girl who enters her professor's office with the sole intent of seduction." His fingertips slid down her throat, tracing a southward path. With a swift movement of his wrist, he jerked down her right bra cup, freeing her heavy breast, and the girl moaned softly as he flicked the tight, pink nipple.

"Isn't that right, Miss Ambrosio? Pray tell me, girl, what kind of man do you think I am?" he questioned her almost disinterestedly, continuing to roll the nipple between his finger and thumb, watching her press herself against the wall as her head tilted back with the pleasure of it.

"Do you think I would be a considerate lover?" he asked, lowering his head intimately to her cheek. Her breathing hitched as he bent further, grazing his lips over the sensitive juncture of throat and shoulder, and suppressing a shudder as he sucked at her pounding pulse.

"Do you think I would hold you close and whisper sweet nothings into your ear as I pushed gently into your tight little body?"

The delicious sounds she was making under the influence of his rough, rich voice were pushing his simmering blood to a full boil, but he kept his composure as she shook her head soundlessly.

"No?" he responded. "Perhaps you would prefer it if I slammed you up against this wall and fucked you like the slut you are?" Her little whimper interrupted him. "Or perhaps you would rather I pinned you down to my desk and pounded into you till you forgot your own name?"

His fingers slid down her body, over the taut young stomach, and over the satiny seam of her panties, feeling and noting the soaked material.

"Oh yes, you like that, don't you?" he muttered roughly into her ear, almost to himself, sliding two fingers underneath her panties and dipping into her already creamy slit. She cried out under his ministrations, rubbing herself frantically against his hand, trying to stimulate her clit. When she reached eagerly for the bulge in his trousers, he brushed her hand aside with a snarl. Wrapping his hand around her throat, he applied just enough pressure to lighten her consciousness, and pressed the full length of his hard body against her at last, pinning her to the wall.

"You have been remarkably quiet, Miss Ambrosio," he remarked, as casually as if he was not flush against her, erection throbbing against her stomach.

"I have asked you numerous questions, and have failed to elicit a response. Of the intelligible variety, that is," he added, smirking. "Let's start with the first one, shall we?"

"You were lying," she managed before he could taunt her further.

"Was I, Miss Ambrosio?" He rewarded her cooperation with the lightest brush of his knuckles over her clitoris, chuckling darkly as she bit back a scream. "Pray enlighten me further."

"In class," she panted. "You said you weren't interested, but you were lying."

"Do go on," he grunted, trying to ignore her mouth watering scent, and focusing on stimulating her folds in just such a way that she writhed against him. He hissed inwardly as her undulating curves abraded his cock in the most maddening fashion.

"I have no idea what sort of man you truly are, but I do know you would make me come harder than I ever have in my life."

He laughed softly.

"Insolent, presumptuous girl. How can you possibly know that?"

"I just do," she whispered softly. "And it's all I can think about, all fucking day."

"Language, Miss Ambrosio," he purred dangerously. "Let's stopper that filthy mouth, shall we?" He brought his slick fingers to her pink lips, tracing the dainty outlines. Something inside him snapped as she sucked her juices sensually off his fingertips, and he fisted a hand in her hair, swinging her around and slamming her brutally facedown on his desk. She squealed in shock as he bent over her, ripping and tearing at her panties.

"You skipped a question, little slut," he rasped into her ear, yanking hard at his belt, and kicking her legs apart. "Do you want me to ravage you?"

In answer, she bucked up against him, crying out as the thick head of his cock slipped along her sodden slit.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he snarled, tugging at her hair. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Please!" broke out of her in a ragged gasp. "Please, Professor!"

He would have taunted her further, but he couldn't wait one minute longer. With a low groan, he buried himself to the hilt in her molten tightness, tearing screams from her, and simultaneously sank his teeth into that creamy, deliciously scented neck.

–––––––––––––––––––

With a growl of frustration, Snape woke, drenched in sweat. The atmosphere in the classroom was stifling, he had a crick in his neck from the awkward position in which he had fallen asleep, and it felt as though his entire body was on fire. Jerking open his fly, he pulled out his engorged cock, fisting his hand around the base and beginning to pump slowly. _It was going to be a sleepless night_, he thought to himself as he stroked his thickened length, erratic bits of his dream floating in his mind's eye like tattered pennants, fueling his lust. It only took a few hard tugs before he spilled onto his stomach, clenching his teeth on a groan. _No point trying to go back to sleep now_. After a few moments, he rose, took a shower of the colder variety, and poured himself another generous drink, before getting a head start on fine tuning the lesson plans for his first class of the following day: seventh year Slytherin and Gryffindor double Potions.


	3. Tangible Delights

**A/N: Poor, frustrated Severus. He's trying so hard to do the right thing and stay away from her. We'll get to the good stuff soon enough. Oh, and there is a plot, btw. I'm laying the groundwork for it in these first chapters. I'm so grateful for the reviews I've gotten so far. They motivate me to update faster! =)**

Sure enough, thanks to the arousing dream of the previous afternoon, Snape had spent a sleepless night, and his students found him to be in a particularly foul mood. More restless than usual, he paced the classroom like a harbinger of doom, gliding soundlessly between the haphazard rows of cauldrons. Hapless students, (mostly Gryffindors), whose nerves were already shot from dealing with his moods, jumped noticeably in their seats whenever he leaned over one of them, berating them for their substandard academic efforts.

_Honestly, you'd think they'd be used to me by now, _Snape sneered to himself, whisking the corner of his teaching robes out of the way just in time to avoid the combustion and subsequent flareup in the usual area of the classroom. Inured at this point to the incapacity of the seemingly idiot boy, he merely vanished the mess with a flick of his wrist, snarling: "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom. You are making a potion, not a flambe." The boy flushed, eyes determinedly bent downwards, and Snape swept past, curling his upper lip. _Pathetic. How Alice and Frank spawned offspring such as this is beyond me._

The class dragged on for Snape. Since Miss Ambrosio had entered the classroom with the rest of her housemates, he had not looked at her other than to assure himself that she had heeded his warning regarding her uniform. She was now the wholesome image of everything an upstanding Hogwarts female should be. Even covered up, however, she was far too delicious. Those rounded curves simply could not be concealed completely, and far from detracting from her appearance, full regulation apparel hinted at her charms in an altogether maddening fashion. He didn't dare look at her again, knowing that if he did, overtly sexual images of all the things he wanted to do to her ripe little body would fill his mind. Determinedly, he occupied himself in other areas of the classroom, willing himself not to think about the young succubus, but despite his best efforts, Snape felt himself grow hard, and it was all he could do not to growl in frustration.

He knew her hand was in the air. He had ignored it for ten minutes, watching her periodically drop her arm and shake it out, only to raise it again, before he determined that he simply could not, in good faith, continue to pretend she did not exist, nor could he avoid her forever, As it was, he steeled himself, his face drawn into its habitual sneer, and approached her. _Fuck. _It was her scent that frayed his iron self-control. That damned, mouthwatering aroma of flowery freshness combined with the musk that was unmistakably _her. _Steeling himself, drawing his robes tightly round his person, he bent over her cauldron.

"What have we here, Miss Ambrosio?" He studied the shimmering pool of liquid. It was pearlescent, rippling, and light blue in color, all the things, in fact, that the Shifting Potion ought to be. However, as he examined her effort, his slim nostrils picked up an odor which, although not altogether unpleasant, had no place in the final product.

"It's wrong, isn't it?" came her soft voice.

"I beg your pardon?" he muttered, still focused on the almost-perfect potion.

"The potion," she specified. "The smell is off, but I can't seem to figure out why. Would you help me, sir?"

It was the first time a student had ever asked for his help. Instantly on guard, he brought the full weight of his black stare to her face.

The images he saw as he slipped into her mind were graphic. Her with her breasts exposed, lying across his desk as he licked her to screaming orgasm. Him with his hand on her head, guiding her wet little mouth up and down his shaft. Her struggling to remain conscious after he fucked her nearly insensate. Grinding his teeth, he withdrew abruptly from her mind, his face twisted in a near grimace of lust. The small smile playing upon her lips told him she knew what he had seen, and he swooped suddenly close to her, wanting to wipe that look off her face. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, as he wasn't at all sure he would be able to stop once he unleashed himself upon her, but it was a game he simply couldn't resist playing.

"Perhaps, Miss Ambrosio, abstaining from filthy, teenaged fantasies would preclude such careless errors in the future." He practically purred the words into her ear, deliberately using the lowest and silkiest register of his deep voice, enunciating each syllable with weighted precision. With a smirk of pure male satisfaction, he watched her squirm in her seat, pressing her thighs together. _Responsive little thing. _He was able to pick up the undeniable scent of her excitement, and his already rock hard erection throbbed angrily.

"I can smell your wetness," he growled, low and deep against her creamy throat, ensuring that the vibrations of his voice resonated throughout her body. Taking advantage of the fact that she sat in the back row, he dragged his tongue over the soft skin of her shoulder. His face shielded by his hair, he sucked hard at the pulse point, savoring her fragrance and the rhythmic _thud, thud _of blood surging beneath his tongue, and was rewarded with a breathy moan. Her small hands clenched on the corner of her desk as she writhed, and he gave a low chuckle, then leaned back abruptly, straightening his lean form and stepping away from her.

"Now, Miss Ambrosio," he continued coldly, as though he hadn't just licked at her sensitive skin in the middle of the class period and made her whimper with pure desire. "Pray tell me why you found it necessary to deviate from the textbook?"

She was panting for air, and he took pleasure in watching her try desperately to compose herself. "The-the book calls for two and a half to three and a half grams of pixie dust, but it also specifies that, depending upon the weather, more or less may be required, much like the amount of water required while baking bread can change depending on the day." Here she half-smiled, as though recalling a fond memory. "Today being rather humid and overcast, I determined that adding half a gram more might have the desired effect."

Snape was rather impressed at her innate sense of the finely nuanced art of potion making, which was indeed similar to muggle cooking and baking, but he could not let her get away with blatant lack of attention to detail in such a dangerous atmosphere, and demanded that she recount her stirring technique.

She tossed her head in annoyance, silky blonde waves tumbling over her shoulders. "I did exactly what the book said to do!"

"Obviously not," he snarked, meeting her blazing eyes. "You will serve detention tonight at six o'clock, during which time you will research your error and correct your potion."

It was quite apparent that she was struggling between anger at being assigned detention for what was admittedly a minor mistake, and pleasure in getting the attention she craved from her Professor, and settled for a slow smile which set his blood to boiling.

The rest of the day had Snape deep in thought. He knew very well what was likely to happen that night. He wanted it, and the gods knew she was willing enough, but he did not intend to let things get that far. He _could not _let that happen. If she knew what he was, what he could do to her...no. He would have to control himself, pure and simple. _After all, _he told himself self-deprecatingly. Y_ou didn't get to where you are today by being weak. _This was the mantra which he repeated again and again, right up until her knock sounded on the door of the Potions classroom.

"Enter."

**Hit that review button, guys. =)**


	4. Torturous Temptation

**A/N: I find Snape to be one of the most deeply intriguing (and hence fantasy-inducing) literary characters in existence. What about you? For me, he is right up there with Mr. Darcy, Col. Brandon, Mr. Rochester, and, dare I say it, Almanzo Wilder (don't laugh).**

**I own nothing except for traces of black makeup under my eyes from last night's fashion show that will ****_not _****come off, no matter how hard I scrub. =( Reviews might help! :-D**

Snape had spent the afternoon in near continuous contemplation. He was torn between the knowledge of what he was, and the nearly uncontrollable urge to give into the hunger. Being a Slytherin, he would never have admitted it to anyone else, nor even aloud to himself, but he wanted the girl. This was not a case of profound, underlying affection. No. All he wanted was to bury himself in the young witch. A good, hard fuck, pure and simple. His cock ached at the memory of the taste of her skin, the way she whimpered under his touch, the way she writhed in her seat. It was a case of pure, unadulterated lust, that was all, and he thought his balls might explode if he didn't get some relief.

_Remember health class, _he sneered to himself. _Physically impossible for sexual frustration to result in _that.

Still, he unbuttoned the placket of his trousers and pulled out his engorged shaft. Wrapping his hand around the stiff base, he squeezed, thrusting his hips up into his fist. A low hiss escaped him, and he closed his eyes, giving himself up to the makeshift pleasure. Copious amounts of pre-come leaked from the swollen head as he imagined _her_, on her knees between his legs, licking him and sucking the entire length of him down her throat.

"Fuck," he muttered raggedly, already on the verge of exploding. Leaning his head back in his chair, he concentrated on the delicious sensation of stimulation, ignoring the niggling voice in his head which murmured something about how much better it would feel were _she _todo this. To silence the voice, he tightened his grip on himself to something bordering on pain, which forced him to focus all his attention on the exquisite friction. With a low growl, conjuring up the image which had tortured him all day––her soft moans as he sucked at her fragrant neck––he came violently, spurting jet after jet of his thick release over his hand and his thighs.

One quick cleaning spell later, and he was decent once more, his now slumbering member tucked away, sated. At least for the moment. Glancing at the clock on the opposite wall of the classroom, he noted the time as a quarter before six, and buried his head in his hands.

It wasn't that he hadn't experienced lust before. Far from it. He had had his fair share of encounters with the opposite sex, both of the willing and not-so-willing variety, but he was hard put to it to remember a time when the crude urge to rut like a teenager was quite so intense as this. _Of course, I have...changed since then, although "change" is a gross understatement when it comes to describing my condition. _The thought galvanized him to action, and he reached into his desk drawer. If the object of his fantasies was to be in close proximity with him for several hours, the least he could do was take precautions. Additional_ precautions, _he thought, smirking.

Pouring himself a generous amount, he downed first one drink, then two. That should hold him over, although he knew it was probably a losing battle. _No. He couldn't give in. He had already come far too close to doing so in class earlier, in front of a whole classroom full of students, no less. He would ruin her life forever if he didn't rein himself in. If she knew-if anyone knew-what he was...No. It simply could not happen._

When her knock sounded on the door, he steeled himself, and called out, "Enter."

It was with relief that he took in her appearance. Although students were not required to be in uniform for after hours detentions, she had opted not to change, and thus looked much the same as she had during his morning lecture. That would make things slightly easier. He didn't know what he had been expecting––not the outfit of his dream, surely, but not this, either. Still, his cock twitched. It seemed that just having her in the same room was enough to...inspire him.

"Good evening, Professor." Her greeting was respectful, and he wondered if this new, quieter persona was her response to his cold statement of the previous day. Gone was the enticing, witty, brave smartmouth, and in her place was a quiet, but even more alluring young woman. Surely such a bright girl knew the truth? As he studied her, however, he became more and more convinced that his words had indeed hurt her, deeply and truly, and that she most certainly thought his hissed rejection had been sincere.

_All the better,_ he reminded himself pointedly, ignoring the small part of him which commiserated with her dejection. _Hardly appropriate anyway, you old lecher. _The problem was that, much as he regretted having to hurt her, (also not something about which he would ever come clean), this newer, more subdued version of the girl was achingly, deliciously to his taste. Snape preferred his women small and submissive, and at the moment, Miss Ambrosio was fitting the bill all too perfectly. Feisty young things who had to be tamed were even better, and it looked as though he had unwittingly already completed the first step in said taming. Shaking his head, and gathering his wits about him, he reminded himself that he could not, would not give in. There would be no taming. No licking, no sucking, no fucking, no biting... Sweet Merlin. The things he wanted to do to her. Greedily, he let his eyes sweep swiftly over her, drawn to her curves like magnets to metal. Fucking delicious. Never having lusted after one of his students before, Snape had never particularly "gotten" the appeal of the school uniform. Now, however, as he took in her luscious body, he thought perhaps muggle attire would in fact have been preferable to this. Images flashed through his mind. Just one quick upwards motion, and he could ruck that flouncy plaid skirt up to her waist. One downward tug, and he could rend the thin cotton shirt straight down the front, scattering buttons across the floor. One forward thrust, and he could bury himself inside her. It would be so easy.

"Professor?"

With a near groan, he pulled himself from his fantasy and brought his glittering eyes up to her face. She looked at him, stunned.

"You lied," she accused, comprehension slowly dawning.

"Did I, Miss Ambrosio? Pray enlighten me," he responded in eery parody of his dream. His voice was husky, but still close enough to his usual drawl.

She began walking towards him, her spirit coming back, making itself known in the swaying of her hips. Alarmed, he rose, and stepped down from the slightly raised dais upon which his desk was placed. He couldn't continue allowing her to get close to him; his control was already tenuous at best, and if her scent reached him, that might be all it would take to–

"Fuck," he hissed, as the heady fragrance filled his nostrils. That sweet musk, that flowery freshness. He could all but taste the blood pounding through her veins. Locking onto her halted form with slightly glazed eyes, he stood stock still, mastering himself.

"Is this what you want, sir?" she murmured, ignoring his question and reaching for the buttons of her shirt. He snarled at her to desist, but within seconds she had undone the top half of the garment. The twin perfection of her breasts rose high and full above the cups of her bra––not green like the one in his dream, but red. Some might have termed it whorehouse red, and the contrast between her snowy skin and the rich, bloody color made his heart race with lust. Snape was caught. He couldn't advance closer, because if he did, he would surely lose control. However, if he simply remained where he was, the chit would continue to strip, and that would have the same result. He settled for closing his eyes, and taking several slow, deep breaths. _Think of Hagrid in a thong. Think of Hagrid in a thong. _

When he deemed it safe to open his eyes, he found that she had not divested herself of any additional clothing, and she gave him a cheeky, half-smile.

"I thought it might be more fun to remain in my uniform, don't you, _Professor?" _she asked.

That one little sentence, with all its implied student/teacher illicitness, undid all his efforts at control, and he lunged for, growling like an animal. Despite her initial squeal of surprise at finding herself being backed violently against the stone wall by a very tall, very hungry Potions Master, she quickly recovered her newfound confidence.

"I'll take that as a yes," she purred, rubbing her luscious curves up against him, making him gasp in a ragged breath.

"Shut up, you stupid girl," he rasped in her ear, fisting one hand in her long, silky hair and placing the other at her throat. Trying desperately to ignore the allure of her scent, and the stimulation at his groin as she draped herself around him like a common harlot, he pinned her effectively against the hard stone.

"Listen to me. Yes, I want to fuck you raw. I want you spread beneath me, screaming the entire castle from sleep as I pound into you. I want you on your hands and knees so I can slam my cock all the way to the hilt into your tight cunt. I want you to submit to me, to my every whim."

He was grinding his hard cock into her softness, devouring her creamy neck, his hands wandering frantically over her soft body. With a low groan, he cupped her breasts greedily, brushing his palms over the taut nipples, feeling them bud even through the light cloth barrier. She was whimpering incoherently, arching up into his rough, calloused hands, and he muttered a filthy oath.

"You have no idea what I am," he continued hoarsely. You have no idea what I am capable of. And you sure as hell don't want to find out."

It seemed that his urgency, as well as his unaccustomed usage of colloquialisms made an impression upon her, and she looked up at him with huge eyes that were still clouded with desire.

"What is it, sir?" And then her gaze widened even more as she saw, for the first time, the changing, the lengthening, the...

He waited for her to scream and struggle away from him, but she did not. Instead, she remained motionless, pressed up against his pulsing body, her eyes fixated upon his face.

And then she spoke.

"Who else knows?"

**:D More to come within the week, guys. Promise! Now go ahead. Hit that review button. It doesn't bite! Although Snape might...**


	5. Secrets Revealed

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with me, lovely readers. I know I left you wondering what was going on with the last chapter. It was deliberate, my friends! Shame on me, I know. Today's offering should clear things up a bit! =) Enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

He simply looked at her, momentarily distracted from her scent by her fairly calm acceptance of his...condition.

"The Headmaster must know, surely?" she prompted. "It can't be a complete secret."

It was all simply too surreal for Snape. Just seconds ago, he had been pressed up against his enticing female student, grinding himself against her, struggling against temptation, and now said student, though still entirely too close, was looking up at him with eyes full of concern and fucking _understanding, _and trying to talk to him about it! In an attempt to process this, he backed away slowly, physically pushing against her creamy shoulders with his hands to distance himself from her.

"Say it." The question in her eyes intensified. "Say what I am," he hissed urgently at her.

A furrow appeared between her eyes as though she found his request odd, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, worrying the soft flesh for a moment.

"Vampire?" It was not an accusation, simply a question, and Snape again found himself, for lack of a better word, befuddled. The silence stretched between them, until at last, she flounced aside and made her way to the nearest desk, plopping herself upon it rather unceremoniously. He followed her movement with disbelief, unable to comprehend why she had not yet run from his presence.

"Honestly, such dramatics! Especially considering we've already been taught by a werewolf!" she exclaimed, leaving Snape with the distinct impression that she must have taken leave of her senses. Forgetting the importance of staying away from her, he swooped suddenly closer to her.

"A werewolf is dangerous much less often, and is much more easily constrained, Miss Ambrosio," he growled, low and deep. He wasn't touching her; he merely had his palms flat upon the desk on either side of her slim legs, and yet he felt rather than heard the catch in her breath. "You have no idea how dangerous a liaison with me would actually be."

"Tell me, then," she whispered, moving to inch closer to him. Instantly, he straightened, and took several steps backward. He continued to retreat until he was half leaning against his own large desk, grateful for the steady stability of the wood at his back.

"In answer to your first question, Miss Ambrosio, yes, the Headmaster knows." He pressed his fingers into his right temple, trying to assuage the pounding headache which he knew was coming. "Why did he let me stay on in my current capacity? That, perhaps, is a question best put to him. Suffice it to say that I have never had a..._problem..._with any of my female students before, and as neither of us ever anticipated such a thing..." He let the sentence trail off.

"So it's just me, then?" she questioned, her small hands now lying demurely in her lap.

"If you are asking if I have never before had an overwhelming urge to fuck a woman, then I believe my answer will disappoint you." He sneered. "I am a man, after all, despite what the dunderheaded denizens of this tedious institute of so-called learning have to say."

A flicker of hurt passed over her face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," she responded quite calmly. "I don't claim to know you,but anyone can see that you're normally extremely collected. One doesn't have to be Hermione Granger to come to the conclusion that there must be something different about me."

"Many of the things you have no doubt heard and read about _vampires"––_he spat the word out venomously––"are correct." His probing dark eyes searched her face, noting her attention. "Others are likely not so correct."

She had her fingertip in her mouth, white teeth chewing lightly at the tip as she processed this.

"You're warm," she said suddenly. "Vampires are supposed to be cold."

He snorted. "I don't sparkle either, Miss Ambrosio. Disappointed?"

She gave a sneer of which he was secretly quite proud.

"That's completely different!" she rejoined. "The one consistent fact about the depiction of vampires throughout history and literature is that they're"–– She paused, eyes widening at the realization of the indelicacy of what she was about to say.

"Dead is the word you are looking for, I believe." He curled his upper lip and crossed his black clothed arms over his chest.

"Well, yes." She looked up at him. "That's a bit different than a silly disagreement over glitter, don't you think?"

He sighed, sitting down heavily in his chair. Passing his hand over his face, he realized just how little he actually wanted to have this conversation. He also realized, having let things get as far as they had, that he owed it to her, and steeled himself.

"I'm not dead, Miss Ambrosio," he began somewhat awkwardly. _Honestly, what a thing to have to say. Has anyone ever had to say that before?_

The incongruous smirk on her face told him she was thinking much the same thing.

"The nature of my induction was not of the standard variety." He cleared his throat, attempting to recover his usual silky smooth drawl.

"You weren't bitten?" she translated, appearing fascinated by this new piece of information.

"In a word, no." Restlessly, he rose and began to pace, maintaining a safe difference between himself and the object of his hunger, and deliberately refraining from elaborating. "As you know, it is the bite of another vampire and the subsequent thorough draining of human blood, and hence life, which results in the undead nature of the typical vampire."

Pausing in his relentless prowling, he stopped to look at her. The sky outside had turned a deep shade of violet, and Snape's long, lean body cast an eerie shadow upon the stone wall behind him. Her bright hair and milky skin stood out in angelic contrast to the gathering gloom.

"Do you drink blood?" she asked into the momentary silence.

"Yes!" he snarled at her in sudden frustration. "Yes, you idiot girl. Now do you understand my urgency in warning you away from me?"

"It's just––I've seen you eat. In the Great Hall," she clarified. She had removed her fingertip from her mouth and was now fidgeting with the buttons of her blouse. It was quite clear that it was simply a nervous tic and that she was unaware she was doing it, but Snape still felt himself grow hard.

"Miss Ambrosio." His voice was very deep. "Stop playing with your clothing in that manner or I won't be responsible for what I do."

At last, a semblance of alarm made itself apparent in her eyes, and she dropped her hands instantly.

"Now, to answer your very astute observation, yes, I am capable of consuming the food of this world. It does not do anything for me, and I could subsist without it, but there it is. For the sake of appearances, I..._partake__._" He took his seat once more, and steepled the tips of his fingers. "Blood, however, I cannot do without."

She looked truly frightened now, but he felt only nominal regret. It was vital that he impress upon her the danger which he posed to her.

"I have yet to consume human blood, Miss Ambrosio," he continued, after a long moment during which he watched her squirm noticeably on the desk. "I satisfy my cravings with the blood of animals, although I am told it is but a poor replacement."

This detail seemed to put her somewhat more at ease, if anyone could be at ease in such circumstances, and she piped up again.

"If you are not a vampire in every sense of the word, then what would happen if you were to feed upon another human?"

"That is something which I certainly have no desire to find out," he exploded at her. "Your scent––the fragrance of your neck––it entices me. Feeling the blood rushing beneath your skin makes me rock hard. What if, in the throes of _passion__"––_here he bared his teeth, showing her his once more lengthening canines-"I were to break the tender skin of your pretty little neck and begin to feed upon you, only to find myself unable to stop?" His voice was gravelly, and his glittering black gaze roved hungrily over her body.

"You see," he rasped. "Merely voicing this is sufficient to arouse me."

Her cheeks were flushed, and her pink lips were parted slightly.

"My lusts are not the same as those of a normal man, Miss Ambrosio. Everything I used to feel, I now experience so much more...intensely." She was panting lightly now under the influence of his rich voice, and he licked his lips. He was fucking _aching_, and he leaned back in his chair, resisting the urge to run his fingers, however swiftly, over the bulge in his trousers.

He closed his eyes.

"Miss Ambrosio, you are dismissed. For tomorrow's class, ensure you have isolated your error with today's potion."

She leapt up angrily, and stood unsteadily, supporting herself with one hand on the desk.

"You––you can't just send me away like that!" she exclaimed. "I still have so many questions! You owe me more answers! Besides, aren't you worried I'll tell everyone?" She was nearly sputtering in fury at his abrupt dismissal.

He folded his arms across his broad chest.

"Are you going to?"

"Well, no..."

"Then I see no reason to continue this conversation." He looked her up and down. "Unless you _want _to continue to play with fire, Miss Ambrosio, I suggest you heed my warning and _get. Out_."

With something akin to a sob, she exited the classroom in a flurry, slamming the door behind her. With a low groan, Snape buried his head in his hands, the sharp _clang _echoing in his mind. He remained like that for a long while, until the classroom was in complete darkness save for the single torch in the corner. At last, he roused himself, reached in his desk drawer, and retrieved his customary crystal goblet, which he filled to the brim with dark liquid. Smoothly, he drained the glass, licking the red drops from his lips.

_What have I done? _he thought to himself, placing the goblet upon his desk and staring unseeing into the darkness.

**I have left several things unanswered here, but never fear! They shall be addressed in good time!**


	6. Continuing Contemplation

**A/N: I now officially have lurkers! I am so grateful to everyone who has favorited Persistent Hunger, but now I am going to beg very prettily for reviews. Please, please, please, review? ^_^ **

**Also, since JKR did not clarify this either way, my Snape does not know about the Horcruxes, hence his comment here that Voldemort is always looking for an elixir of immortality. **

**I am deliberately still avoiding discussing how Snape became...the way he is, as I intend to tackle that in future chapters. **

The rest of the evening passed slowly for Snape, and he spent another near sleepless night. _If I keep this up, I'll become a zombie. _When he did finally nod off around two am, he managed only three hours of rest before uneasy dreams of soft skin, silky blonde hair, and red drops of blood marring a creamy throat jarred him into unwilling consciousness. With a groan, he heaved himself out of bed and went about his morning routine, slightly more sluggishly than usual, as he still had not finished processing the events of the previous afternoon.

If he allowed himself to linger over the conversation he had shared with Miss Ambrosio, his brain just might explode. He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that one second, he had had her up against the wall, her soft, warm, and oh-so-willing body wrapped around him like Devil's Snare, and the next, he had been explaining his condition to the vixen. The fact that another person, besides the perpetually meddling Headmaster, now knew his dirty secret was enough to make him feel quite conflicted. While it was not so long ago that he had become a vampire, if you could call it that, it was just another thing that, were it to become public knowledge, would serve to ostracize him further from so-called polite society. He hardly cared about a permanent dent in his already stagnant social life, but there were other, potentially fatal ramifications.

He did not think the girl would broadcast her private information to the school, at least unless, in true Slytherin fashion, doing so was to her benefit, but there were other dangers. Certain magical elements, particularly potions of the nastier variety, relied upon vampires for their effectiveness, and Snape had no desire to become the Dark Lord's latest sick experiment, especially given the madman's constant desperate hunt for an elixir of immortality. Being a Potions Master, he was only too aware of the myriad ways in which vampires could be exploited for their skin, blood, and various body parts, depending upon the requirements of the magic in question, all of which were quite gruesome, dragging a shudder even from his war-hardened body when he thought about them. Of course, not being a true vampire meant that the desired reaction might not be obtainable with his..._contributions_, but he had absolutely no desire to find this out for sure.

Just like he had not desire to ascertain what would actually happen were he to allow himself to indulge in his tantalizing young student in every way he desired. The ache, the urge, the hunger that was almost cramping in its intensity were so uncontrollable around her, which galled Snape, who had always prided himself upon his impeccable self-restraint. He had no qualms about fucking her–she was a legal adult who had already expressed her enthusiasm for said fucking on multiple occasions–but he sure as hell had qualms about potentially turning her into a clone of himself at the least, and a full-blown vampire at the most. To his knowledge, he was the first of his kind. Nowhere had any of his research unearthed anything about half-vampires, as he had begun to call himself, and as such, he was unable to determine the likelihood of vampiric consequences of his actions.

Shaking his head to clear his muddled thoughts, he spat his brushing water into the sink as though it had done him a deep personal injury, and viciously ran a comb through his tangled hair, welcoming the sting on his scalp from the plastic teeth. One thing was for sure. He needed to clear his mind. Hazy awareness and slow reaction times had no place in a potions classroom full of potentially explosive compounds and dunderheaded students. Quickly swallowing his tedious breakfast, he made his way to the Great Hall.

–––––––––––––

Snape had never been one for trite phrases, but by two o'clock, he was fervently thanking all the gods that it was Friday. In his morning third year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw class, the watery brunette who sat in the front row had finally managed to do what her subpar skills had been threatening to do all term, and blow up her entire row's worth of cauldrons. He had never liked her, mainly because she sought his approval so desperately, causing her to look as though she was perpetually on the verge of tears, but now he had left "dislike" far behind and fervently wished for nothing more than to wring her neck. He had hissed at her in a way which had made her devoutly pray for death, before assigning the little swot a week's worth of detention, which just might be enough time for her to clean up her mess. To cap things off, Mr. Longbottom had run bodily into him as he stood in the doorway of the Potions classroom before the start of the afternoon Gryffindor/Slytherin lesson. Snape had merely looked down at him with an icy expression on his face and a dangerous curl to his upper lip, which had been sufficient to warn the bumbling, blushing boy to peel himself off his teacher as speedily as possible.

Once the racket of ingredient gathering and chair and bench dragging had died down, Snape spoke.

"I am well aware that you are all useless after your afternoon feeding." He didn't bother even attempting to tone down the venom in his tone. "Therefore, let us not pretend that you are capable of productivity at the moment. Turn to page three hundred and ninety four in your textbook, and take notes on the properties of moonstone, which you are to incorporate in a potion of your choosing for Monday."

He watched the heads bend obediently over the assigned work. Amongst them, _her's _stood out beautifully in all its shining, wavy glory, and he took a moment to admire it before approaching her soundlessly. He congratulated himself on his forethought in having downed a rather large drink directly before the class period, as this staved off the ravenous hunger enough to enable him to get past her alluring scent.

"I trust you have completed your assignment, Miss Ambrosio?" he murmured, bending over her slightly.

"Professor!" she exclaimed, looking up at him with widened eyes, and gasping in a quick breath. "You startled me!"

He sneered down at her, but the sneer quickly turned into something much more appreciative as he watched her breasts push against the fabric of her blouse with her quickened breathing. _How he wanted to lick every luscious inch of her. He knew she would scream for him, and he grew hard at the thought._

It was apparent, as she met his glittering gaze, that she was still struggling with anger at his abrupt dismissal of her the previous evening, and feminine pleasure in his frank appraisal of her body. Female awareness won. Noting the direction of his gaze, she gave him a small half smile, catching the left corner of her bottom lip in her teeth, and leaned forward slightly to give him a better view of her breasts. He indulged himself momentarily, allowing his gaze to travel hungrily over the gorgeous, creamy swells, before wrenching his focus back to the matter at hand.

"Your assignment, Miss Ambrosio?" he prodded.

"Oh–." Her smile widened, and it was a real smile, not the teasing tilt to which he had begun to grow accustomed. "Yes, sir. I know _exactly _what caused my potion to react."

"Well?" he drawled, staring down at her and tapping his boot against the floor repeatedly to let her know he had reached the end of his patience.

"I–I can't tell you here, Professor!" She looked up at him, imploring him to understand, but he remained deliberately obtuse.

"Very well," he rejoined. "You may tell me in detention this evening, which you will serve alongside Mr. Longbottom and my other wayward students of the day."

**What do you think Miss Ambrosio knows? Tell me in the reviews! =)**


	7. Further Clarification

**A/N: More mysteries are cleared up in this chapter, which has a distinct naughty lemony flavor. They haven't gone all the way yet, but they're getting there. Have to work with the pesky vampire tendencies!**

**No one's mentioned it yet, so I thought I'd just clarify that I am, indeed, ignoring the fact that Snape killed Dumbledore in the sixth book. Personally, I've always hated the fact that Snape had to blot his soul further with this murder in order to to keep his cover, and so I am glossing over it. **

**Enjoy!**

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully, which was a small blessing for which Snape was eternally grateful. There had been a grand total of zero cauldron explosions, thanks to the fact that he'd had his students engage solely in the reading assignment in class. _It was a nice break for my reflexes. Perhaps I should institute a one-day-a-week reading policy. _He quickly dismissed that idea, however. People might begin to think he was losing his edge. Much depended upon his ability to present himself in a certain way to the world, and while being a complete asshole to his students wasn't exactly included in his evil-wizard-on-the-side job description, being that way was not only part of his nature, but also what was expected of him in his position as most trusted confidante of a man _riddled_ with insanity.

Snape often wondered what his life might have been like had he not made the fateful decision to let Lucius talk him into joining the Death Eaters. It was his view that he most likely still would have ended up alone, as he had never had a particularly vibrant personality, but the possibility of an alternate universe in which the shadow of darkness had never passed over him was tantalizing to contemplate. Of course, his shitty childhood had driven him to the dark arts as soon as he had discovered they existed. It was a way to feel power, a way to escape the vulnerability he felt whenever he would hear his drunken father's footsteps on the stairs on the way to his room to administer a beating...

He snorted. Who was he kidding? He would have become a bad egg either way. He had read stories of virtuous, wonderful, saintly people who exercised their free will and strength of character to remain devoid of bitterness and guile no matter how many curveballs the powers that be decided to throw at them. Well, he had exercised his free will too, choosing the shadowed path, and had devoted his strength of character to learning as many questionable hexes and curses as humanly possible. This doubled as insurance against retaliation in the form of counter curses, as far fewer members of the wizarding world subscribed to such practices.

So all in all, it was quite baffling to Snape that one small blonde, no more than five foot three at most, and probably not even eight stone, was having such an effect on him_, _the tall, brooding, apparently wicked Potions Master whose biting tongue and intimidating persona had been feared by almost a generation of students. He had never, in all his years of teaching, been so affected by a female pupil, and Miss Ambrosio was far and away not the only young girl to make her interest in him apparent. She was, however, by far the most delicious, and Snape had been finding himself with uncomfortable erections at inopportune moments of the day, brought on by conjuring up images of her large green eyes, small, button nose, full pink lips, and lush body.

It was with these thoughts running through his mind that he found himself gazing at the object of his lust as she bent over her books and her cauldron during the detention hour. She had arrived early, excited to the point of absurdity, trying to tell him what she had learned about her potion, but he had denied her the satisfaction of sharing her discovery, taking perverse pleasure in her frustration. Now, he could tell she was practically chomping at the bit. Her eyes were bent on her work, it was true, but her right foot was tapping the floor not altogether silently, and she was bouncing slightly in her seat. Snape's first instinct was to snort with silent laughter at her irritation, but his amusement was cut short when he imagined her doing that same motion in another context. _Fuck, _he thought irately. Now was certainly not the time to be imagining her riding his now very hungry cock, not with an entire front row full of the victims of his usual detention-giving generosity.

Pulling himself together, and reaching into his desk for a measure of what he liked to think of as his medicine, he tucked the flask into the folds of his robes and rose, heading for his storage cupboard. Making sure to keep his outer cloak wrapped around his tall frame, as the last thing he needed was half a classroom of students to notice his erection, he gained the security of the small enclosure, and drew the door silently shut. Swiftly, he pulled out the stopper, and drained the contents of the flask in just two swallows. It wasn't enough, however, and with a low groan, he undid his trousers and pulled out his aching manhood. _Just a few strokes, _he told himself. That quickly went by the wayside, however, for no sooner had he wrapped his hand around himself, imagining _her _pressed against him, writhing, and whimpering his name, than he was beating off fast and hard, grunting his pleasure. He was on the very verge of relief when he heard the unmistakable sounds of someone at the door. Swiftly, he covered himself and hid the flask safely in his robes once more, just in time for Miss Ambrosio to enter. He cursed his lack of forethought in leaving the room unsecured.

"_Yes?" _he snapped at her. Her eyes widened at his tone, but he felt little remorse. He was throbbing and aching, and very, very frustrated. He also knew she was quite intelligent, and most likely would put two and two together, but at the moment, he didn't much care. He just wanted her to leave so he could finish, especially since her scent was tantalizing him all the more in the enclosed space. Blood didn't seem to diminish his hunger for her. All it really did was turn his lust into less of an animal thing, something slightly more controllable.

"I _was _going to retrieve some moonstone for the potion you assigned us for Monday," she answered tartly. "How was I to know you were using the storage cupboard for–"

"Insolence," he hissed, interrupting her. "Ten points from Slytherin, Miss Ambrosio, for your cheek."

She stared up at him. "That's completely unfair!" she exclaimed. "I'm only pointing out the truth."

He knew he was being completely unreasonable, but she did that to him. It was all he could do to think rationally in her presence.

"Then think of it as a compliment," he sneered down at her. "You have reduced the Potions Master to clandestine wanking. Fuel for your fantasies, girl."

Her cheeks flushed, and he detected the change in her heartbeat. Against his better judgment, he began to back her slowly against the ladder which led to the higher shelves of his stores.

"What a filthy little thing you are," he murmured. "You like that, don't you? You like the notion that I was having a wank to thoughts of your pretty body?"

If her panting moans were any indication, it seemed she had forgotten her anger with him over being assigned detention, and he followed up his advantage, taking her chin roughly in his hand and tilting her head up. Without warning, he plunged into her mind. She shifted against him in an attempt to block him, but her efforts were futile, and he saw the images which his words had conjured up in her mind. Her on her knees, licking and sucking him to distraction while rubbing herself frantically. It was all he needed to see. Instantly, he pulled out of her mind, all thoughts of restraint set aside, and pushed her to the floor. She scarcely had time to gasp, before he had torn open his robes and presented her with his still throbbing cock.

"Open up," he growled, fisting a hand in her hair and dragging her forward. She seemed incapable of speech. Her eyes went huge at his size, and he let out a grunt of laughter.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" _Fucking hell, he had to have those pink lips wrapped around him. _Impatiently, he twisted her head back, and when she made a small noise of discomfort, he wasted no time shoving his swollen length deep into the warm wetness of her mouth. Throwing his head back, he groaned aloud at the exquisite sensation, then hissed as she began to use her tongue, laving the sensitive, veined underside of his shaft as she sucked the mushroom head, her lips distended around its thickness in an altogether sinful manner. The illicit nature of doing such a thing within earshot of his other students merely inflamed him more.

"Good girl," he rasped, his voice gravelly. It was almost too erotic, and his eyes threatened to close with the pleasure of it, but he forced them to stay open. Hungrily, he drank in the sight of the blonde vixen on her knees before him, doing her best to swallow his cock, bobbing up and down and using her small hand to pump him. At his praise, she began to make contented humming noises around him, and it wasn't long before his balls tightened almost painfully, pulling up towards the base of his shaft.

"Drink my come," he gasped raggedly at her through clenched teeth. "Swallow every fucking drop of it."

She looked up at him hotly at that exact moment, her eyes glazed, and he exploded, snarling obscenities as he shot what seemed like endless amounts of release down her throat. She didn't complain as he held her head selfishly down on his cock, and hardly choked at all as he lined her insides with his cream.

As he came down from his high, he released his death grip on her hair, allowing her to slump to the floor. He had just enough presence of mind to step slightly to the right of her, enabling him to sag bonelessly against the ladder for support as he recovered. Through his haze of satiety, he looked down and vaguely noted that she had rucked her skirt up to her waist. It was apparent that blowing him had left her extremely aroused, as her small fingers were playing in her pussy, and she was making altogether delicious little noises as she licked stray drops of come from her lips. _Fuck. _He had to get her back into the classroom before her absence became noticeable and before he went even further than he already had. Already, the effects of the blood were wearing off, and his hunger was beginning to take on a sharper edge. Were it not for that, he would have given her some relief with his mouth or his hands, or both.

"Leave," he told her shortly.

She looked up at him, panting, her fingers momentarily ceasing their busy work.

"You can't just send me away like that!" Her voice was full of hurt.

"I just did, Miss Ambrosio," he ground out, his resistance wearing thin.

"Not before I tell you what you wouldn't allow me to tell you earlier!"

"Very well." He was beginning to grow hard again. "But first cover yourself or I will no longer be able to restrain my urges."

Rather sluggishly, she obeyed, and he watched her wipe her dripping fingers on her skirt. His groin throbbed at the sight of her fresh nectar, and he suppressed a groan, willing her to be quick.

"Well, in a nutshell, I told my mother––you know, Potions Mistress Ambrosio––?" she looked up at him questioningly.

He hissed. "Of course I know your mother. It isn't as though Potions Masters and their female counterparts litter the countryside. The academic program is too stringent for that. Now, to the point, if you please."

She tossed her head. "Anyway, I was telling her what happened to my potion in class, and she told me that it was most likely due to the fact that I'm part veela. About one-sixteenth, according to our genealogy."

This served to drag the Professor from his haze of lust, and his eyes widened as understanding dawned. His first emotion was one of vindication. He had been berating himself for his lack of control when it came to this girl. The rawness of the hunger she inspired in him had been a source of confusion for him, and to learn that she was part of that famous race of not-quite-human women who were quite capable of driving men insane with lust, he could only be grateful he had held onto his sanity this long. The second underlying emotion was one of academic satisfaction. He (although he would never have admitted it) had been stymied when it came to the error in her Shifting Potion, and it was gratifying to know that he had not missed something when it came to her ingredients or techniques. The only way he would have known why the potion came out wrong was if he had been aware of her status as a partial human, which, of course, he had not been until the present moment.

"I take it you know why this affected your potion?" The expression in her eyes was answer enough, but she responded eagerly.

"Yes, sir!"

Her face was bright, and she rose gracefully from the ground. He had already made himself decent, straightening his robes and casting a cleansing charm on them both, and it occurred to him that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to conjure her something to drink. He wrestled with the idea for a moment, naturally averse to doing the proper thing, but finally caved and handed her a magicked glass of water. She held up the glass in a mockery of a toast, but her expression as she did so was soft, and she smiled at him.

"My mother explained that the magical properties of an individual can have a distinct effect on highly volatile things such as potions, and even certain riskier, more dangerous charms, as well as elements of transfiguration."

"Your mother is correct," he told her. "Because of what you have just delineated so concisely, veelas and part veelas find themselves in the unique position of being able to design new potions, often unconsciously. Of course, this can be disastrous, if the end potion possesses explosive traits, and any witch with veela blood should be under even closer supervision than normal when near a cauldron. What your mother was thinking, not disclosing that to the Headmaster when you first began your schooling, I do not know." He shook his head at the carelessness. "What remains to be seen is what potion you have created."

"It's all so exciting!" she said, almost to herself. "To think that I may have inadvertently invented a whole new potion!"

"Yes, indeed," he responded dryly. "We will never find out what it is, however, if we both remain in this cupboard."

At his pointed remark, she giggled and made her way out. He followed soon after, having retrieved the moonstone which was the original reason for her foray into the storage closet.

"Fifteen points to Slytherin," he said under his breath.


	8. What's a Potions Master to Do?

**Much to my chagrin, I _still _don't own HP. :( I do, however, own tickets to see Bill Cosby, which is where I am headed this very moment. Eeeeeeee! Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. I'm sorry it's been a while. I've had a friend visiting, and my Muse has been MIA. She's back now, though. \o/ In fact, I'm also working on two HG/SS oneshots, as well as a challenge fic. Too much, you say? We shall see, I suppose. Better a superabundance of inspiration than none at all! =)**

The rest of the group detention time dragged for Snape, partially because he was struggling to absorb the enormity of what his student had shared with him, and partially because he had grown hard again after their intoxicating interlude. At least now he knew _why _she had such an effect on him. One-sixteenth of veela blood was more than enough to render a woman extremely sexually attractive to men, but he supposed that his condition also had something to do with the intensity of his hunger. After all, he had seen the way boys reacted to Miss Ambrosio, and while she certainly got more than her fair share of attention, she was hardly a full-blown succubus in every sense of the word. Had she been, he would never have been able to get any teaching done at all; even Dumbledore, oblivious though he most certainly could be, would not have failed to notice the ruckus caused by the entire male population of Hogwarts making persistent and ridiculous fools of themselves. All this being said, he still wasn't entirely sure why his reaction to the girl was as strong as it was, and filed the nagging thought away in a cobwebby corner of his mind for further examination at a later date.

He wasn't entirely surprised by what had happened, although in retrospect he couldn't quite believe that he had allowed things to get as far as they had without taking some sort of precautions against harming her. That had been incredibly stupid of him, and he berated himself soundly. Thank Merlin he had consumed a large amount of deer blood–his latest acquisition–directly before she had interrupted him. Fresh specimens sated his persistent hunger much more than older ones, as blood tended to lose its nutritional qualities over time in the same way that vegetable juice oxidizes, its nutrients weakening in strength with every passing day. Still, Snape was determined never to put her in such danger again. While she had been on her knees, small hands supporting herself by clinging round his thighs as she licked at him like an ice cream cone, he had been unable to detect too much of her scent, which had helped to stave off disaster, but things could still very easily have gone to hell in a hand basket.

Fucking hell, she had been incredible. Like most of the women who had performed fellatio upon him over the years, she had really seemed to enjoy it, if her frantic masturbation and soft moans had been any indication. (He had either gotten lucky with the women he had bedded, or said women were simply appreciative of his size and consistent cleanliness.) His darkening gaze wandered to her face, dropping to her mouth and lingering over the plump pink lips. As he watched her with what he hoped was surreptitious slyness, she wriggled in her seat, clearly pressing her thighs together. Her gaze was apparently focused on her potions research as she read the books he had assigned her after they reentered the classroom, but it was obvious to him that she was not retaining any of the information. He knew very well why she was squirming about, and the knowledge that she was desperate for him, desperate to be impaled on his all too ready cock, sent a throb of pure lust to his now throbbing shaft. He brought his gaze from her creamy thighs back up to her mouth, and swallowed hard as he watched her tugging on her bottom lip with her pearly teeth. His imagination was assaulted with an intense visual of those full lips stretched around him, and he greedily relived the experience. Her mouth had been so wet and warm, and the sensation of his cock sliding down her throat had been, quite simply, spectacular.

He resisted the urge to peek into her mind, and view what he was quite sure were extremely sexual fantasies, since he knew his plight would simply grow worse. Already, he was so hard he was dripping into his trousers, creating quite a mess. His lust was also growing more intense, a sure sign that he needed to drink. Unfortunately, he had already consumed all of the blood which he had in the classroom, and the rest of his stores were in his private chambers. There was now less than an hour left of the detention period, but it was still a lengthy enough period of time that he knew he didn't dare go the rest of the time without satisfying his immediate hunger, especially since he was still able to pick up a hint of the girl's scent, despite the fact that her desk was yards away from his. He also really wanted to rack his brain for possible implications of Miss Ambrosio's veela DNA, or VDNA, as it was generally referenced in potioneering circles, on her Shifting Potion, and he could not do so in his current condition.

Thus it was that Hogwarts was rocked to the core by an unprecedented event: Snape dismissed detention early. Other than a cutting remark about not wishing to have to look upon such dunderheaded students for another minute, he gave no reason for his behavior, and the hapless boys and girls certainly did not require a lengthier explanation before rushing out of the room helter skelter before he changed his mind. Miss Ambrosio's little smirk as she gathered her things and rose did not escape him, and he snarled silently at the fact that not only did she have such an effect on him, she was also very well aware of it.

Making sure to leave the door to the dungeon classroom wide open as his students fled his presence, he faced Miss Ambrosio, who had remained behind.

"You are dismissed," he told the witch. "I will contact you with further instructions regarding your potion." Remaining behind his desk to conceal his rampant erection, he eyed her suspiciously as she stepped towards him.

She blatantly ignored him. "You're hard right now, aren't you, sir?" She licked her lips, and his dark gaze went instantly to her mouth. "I saw you watching me during the rest of the detention period. Would you like me to take care of you again?" She was directly in front of him now, and he was sure that, had he not left the door unsecured, she would have already insinuated herself between his knees.

"Miss Ambrosio, what part of 'I am dangerous when engaged in sexual activity in my condition' do you not understand?" he inquired in a moderately successful attempt at his usual snarky tone, even as his cock throbbed eagerly, demanding acceptance of her lewd invitation.

A shade of alarm crossed her face, but it was fleeting.

"You could drink first," she suggested. "That tames you somewhat, doesn't it? Or, I don't know, spell your jaw shut?"

Snape rose in sudden anger. Heedless of his erection, bracing both palms on the polished surface of his desk, he towered over her, growling.

"This is no laughing matter, you insolent little–"

"Sir!" she gasped up at him, shaken by his rage, her interruption inflaming him even more. "I wasn't trying to-that is to say, I was being serious! It seems like a valid solution to me..." She trailed off lamely, looking up at him, her eyes big in her down-turned face.

"You have a low opinion of my abilities, is that it, girl?" His voice was nearly shaking with anger at her apparent flippancy. "You truly think me so incapable of wandless magic that such an idea could ever possibly work to restrain me?"

She was trembling, backing away from him.

"I-I'm sorry, sir!" A line appeared between her eyebrows, creasing the otherwise perfect skin, and she pressed her lips together as though to erase her expression. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just didn't think!"

Snape's anger receded at her sincere apology but, realizing that she probably thought he had grossly over-reacted, he felt the need to impress upon her the seriousness of her lack of thought.

"Miss Ambrosio, sit down," he began in a significantly calmer tone, waiting for her to obey him before continuing.

"I shall address you as an adult," he stated. Seating himself, he pressed the fingers of both hands together, steepling them under his chin. She remained silent under his gaze.

"You know very well that I find you attractive. Were it not for my extenuating circumstances, I would have you under me right now, and the only words leaving your pretty mouth would be 'more', 'yes', 'faster', and 'harder'". A pink blush lit up her cheeks, and he smirked. He took great pleasure in making her squirm with his words alone. "As much as I am portrayed as the cold bat of the dungeons, I do, however, have a conscience, and I refuse to risk your well-being to satisfy my lusts."

"At the moment, I also have things to which I must attend." Her expression told him that she believed he was euphemising masturbation, and he growled at her.

"Do remove your mind from the gutter and get out, Miss Ambrosio." His voice was very deep. "I have pressing matters to address, and I cannot do so until you take your tempting body out of my classroom."

The embedded compliment served to take the edge off the abrupt dismissal, and she obediently began to turn away, disappointment coloring her expression.

"I will keep you abreast of my progress in determining your inadvertent potion invention."

She turned, looking over her shoulder at him, and he was struck with the sexual appeal of the pose. He wanted her doing just that as he pounded into her from behind.

"Thank you very much, sir."

He inclined his head. "For your part, continue to peruse the books I have lent you. I will check back in with you at regular intervals to discuss the matter."

Indicating with a soft noise of assent that she had heard him, she slipped from the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Snape leant back in his chair with a groan. The little minx was going to be the death of him. He wasted no time entering his private rooms and retrieving his store of blood. Drinking quickly, he strode from his chambers, black cloak billowing behind him. He had to see Dumbledore.

**Review, review, review. =)**


	9. Confounding Confrontation

**A/N: No randiness in this chapter, but I like it nonetheless. I have never been a big fan of Dumbledore, but neither do I see him in an entirely negative light. This particular story, however, is writing itself at this point, and the Muse demanded that Dumbledore be unlikable. And who am I to argue with the Muse?**

**I do not own Harry Potter or anything else in JKR's world. All of the above is her sole and exclusive property.**

**I do own Miss Ambrosio.**

Snape tapped his booted right foot repeatedly against the stone floor in annoyance as he waited for the damnably slow circular staircase leading to the Headmaster's office to reappear. The gargoyle sentinel had turned up its stone nose at Snape's usage of the correct password, as though it still didn't much of him, and would rather not have granted him access.

Snape was tempted to inquire whether or not the gargoyle had been a member of Gryffindor house during its time as a human, before it had been relegated to this cold and useless existence.

_Why the _fuck _the Headmaster employs this damn staircase as the entrance to his office is beyond me, _he thought irritably. _Damned Gryffindors. Always acting as though they have no use for appearances, when in reality they never waste an opportunity to impose their grandeur on others using roundabout means such as this. At least we Slytherins are honest in our desire to be seen as powerful._

Agonizingly slowly, the moving stairs carried him to the all too familiar office. Snape hated being there. For one thing, it smelled like old people. For another, the old coot always made him wait. Always. It was as though he was conveying a message to the dour man.

_No matter what you do, how much you sacrifice, how much you suffer: it'll never be enough. You are in my debt forever._

Yes, well, Snape now had a card to play. He had had it ever since the end of the previous year, and he would use it now, if he had to.

"Severus!" came the perpetually cheery tone of the Headmaster. Even when certain situations necessitated a certain amount of gravity, there was always an annoyingly light overtone to the ponderous voice which had made so many demands of the dark man.

Snape didn't get up.

"I have happened upon a piece of information which I find it urgently necessary to discuss with you," he told his master bluntly.

Dumbledore's posture changed slightly as he leaned forward, interest sparking swiftly in his eyes.

"You were summoned? Severus, we had an agreement. You were to inform me before answering Tom's calls. Why have you not reported to me sooner?"

Snape felt the familiar, quick rush of an irritation that skirted hatred.

"The Dark Lord has not called me for weeks." He didn't bother trying to conceal the edge in his voice. That was all he was good for to the Order. Not a damn person in the organization gave a shit about him as a person. It was all about what he could do for them.

"What, then?" Dumbledore leant back in his imposing chair, reaching for a lemon drop. He didn't offer one to Severus.

"This is a different matter altogether. It concerns one of the students of my House." He just wanted to get this conversation over with, and get out of this musty, scarlet and gold cage.

Dumbledore pursed his lips with what Snape knew to be distaste.

"Son, you know that I hate to get involved with your snakes," he told the younger man, who had to call upon his considerable self-control not to bristle noticeably.

He had always hated being called that. He supposed that it might sound paternal and kind, coming from someone else, but in Dumbledore's unctuous tones, it simply sounded patronizing. He sneered inwardly.

_I may be scum beneath your shoes, old man, but my skills at Occlumency will always be far superior to yours. _

Good thing, too. Snape had no desire for Dumbledore to see the thoughts he had been having recently about his student. Or their little interlude in his storage closet. Or the fact that Snape was currently imagining Dumbledore dangling upside down from the rafters for referring to his Slytherin charges as "snakes", with that faint curl to his upper lip.

_Maybe if less people judged us, less of us would turn out the way we do._

"This is no adolescent dispute or skirmish," he said shortly. "Were you aware that Miss Ambrosio, one of my seventh year advanced Potions students, has veela blood?"

The old wizard's eyes opened wide, the only immediate indication that he was shocked to the bone.

_And they all think he is infallible, _Severus snorted silently. _Honestly. Students could have died! She could have blown up the whole school!_

Dumbledore was quite aware of the implication of Snape's question, which he processed for several long moments while the Potions Master waited impatiently, knowing that if he demanded a reaction, the ornery man would only make him wait even longer.

"I shall be having a long talk with the Head Registrar," he finally offered, fingertips pressing lightly together in front of his face. "In the meantime, see that she is well-supervised."

Snape's eyes bulged. Any other man would have stuttered in outrage. As it was, he took several deep breaths before rejoining.

"I can't possibly continue to accept her in my class, Headmaster. It is a miracle she has not caused devastation thus far. There are far too many students to supervise, most of whom suffer simply from a pervasive and unrelenting case of stupidity. Miss Ambrosio, however, is a far more volatile case. I cannot, in good conscience, risk missing something."

Dumbledore looked as though he didn't think much of Snape's conscience.

Snape ground his teeth quietly. Dumbledore was a perfectly proficient potioneer; he was simply goading him. Because he could. Because he had the upper hand. Because this was an unequal relationship.

It was time to play his card. The guilt card.

"After what you asked me to do last year, you are unwilling to help me resolve this simple matter?" he demanded.

Snape had flat out refused when the old man had come to him with his "plan", arguing that he had already blotted his soul far more than was healthy with the things he was regularly forced to do in his role as spy. He had known Dumbledore was dying; his cursed hand was resilient to treatment, and defied all known laws of magical healing, but in Snape's mind, the concept of "for the greater good" only went so far. Knowing his taskmaster, with his nightmarish Gryffindor attitude of sacrifice, wouldn't let him off the hook as long as the dark curse consuming his body remained operational, Snape had focused all his efforts during his nonexistent leisure time on a potion to cure him. It had worked.

Dumbledore had the grace to avert his eyes.

He had never thanked Severus. They had never spoken of it, and Snape was counting upon this fact to throw the man off guard and wring cooperation from him.

"What is it you require?" he asked the Potions Master, sounding put-upon.

_And they say my billowing entrances and window slamming are dramatic._

"I require assistance determining the exact nature of the potion the girl created in one of my more recent classes. Whenever a veela alters the content of a potion, it is vital that its characteristics and properties be examined and catalogued for future reference. It could be anything: an healing elixir, a pain potion, even a dark substance. It must be identified and registered with the Ministry."

"Very well," came the reluctant answer. "Bring me a sample of the liquid, and I will endeavor to ascertain its nature."

The older wizard rose, making the grunting sounds that only the elderly make when changing position. Snape knew that he was being dismissed.

"What am I to do with the girl?" he demanded of Dumbledore's retreating back.

The old man looked over his shoulder, eyes appearing impossibly small behind his half-moon spectacles.

"The girl?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing further.

On its shelf, the Sorting Hat peered down at Snape suspiciously.

Strengthening his Occlumency shields, Snape simply nodded.

"Yes. The girl. As I told you, I am unable to continue to accept her in my group class. It is unsafe."

The Headmaster sighed, as though Snape was being ridiculous.

"I will rectify the oversight, and see to it that Miss Ambrosio's veela heritage is documented appropriately. A letter will be sent to her parents, to impress upon them the importance of full disclosure of relevant personal data. As for lessons, simply conduct private classes with her, to enable her to continue her studies."

Snape's jaw dropped in outrage and dismay.

"I can't possibly-" he began, then trailed off, shaking in fury.

The old dodger was gone.

"Yes, my health is quite good at the moment," he snarked into the silence, directing his rage at the general direction of the now-closed door leading to Dumbledore's private quarters. "Thank you so much for your concern. What's that? Why yes. Yes, I would be positively delighted to devote my extensive private time to tutoring!"

Snarling, he billowed his way out of the office, pausing only to throw a rude hand gesture over his shoulder in the general direction of the Hat.

He took great pains to slam the door.

**Poor Snape. Dumbledore is kind of a doosher in this story, isn't he? I swear, I don't normally think _this _poorly of him. He's just writing himself in this tale, like all the rest of my characters.**

**Hmm, private lessons? I think we all know that's going to mean trouble.**

**I'm planning out the next chapters: we're going to learn more about how Snape became a vampire, how he cured Dumbledore's hand, and how he and Miss Ambrosio deal with their attraction.**

**Please review. I beg of you. It inspires me so much. Plus, if you review, I will return the favor and review your stories. =) It's all about mutual encouragement, people. **

**xoxo.**


End file.
